


A Very Lucky Woman

by Tomstinkerbell



Category: Loki (Marvel) - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Tom Hiddleston Fandom
Genre: Breast biopsy, Caretaker!Loki, Dom!Loki, Dominant!Loki, F/M, Loving!Loki, Medical Procedure, Oral Sex, Potential cancer diagnosis, Protective!Loki, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 06:09:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8833393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomstinkerbell/pseuds/Tomstinkerbell
Summary: Just an imagine that came to me.Potential trigger warning about breast biopsy, if you've been through that.I just really love it when Loki takes care of his woman.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just an imagine that came to me.
> 
> Potential trigger warning about breast biopsy, if you've been through that.
> 
> I just really love it when Loki takes care of his woman.

You are lying in Loki’s arms one morning, one of the few times you are simply allowing yourself to be fawned over by him, petted endlessly, caressed and nuzzled as if you two have just found each other, instead of the reality of the situation – that you’ve been together for almost five years. But he never seems to tire of touching you, and Lord knew he’s always after you to the point of inappropriateness – not that you’re any more able to keep your hands off of him, either, though, really. Your friends are always teasing you about the fact that you’re always holding hands, you always sat practically – or literally - in his lap, always walked arm in arm, kiss each other hello and good bye, being generally, sloppily and unapologetically romantic with each other, no matter who’s around.

Just as his fingers twine themselves into your hair, the heel of his palm settling with infinite gentleness against the apple of your cheek as his lips find yours, your phone rings where it sits tucked into your headboard.

It’s your generic “old phone” ringtone – everyone you know and love has a personalized one - so you know it had to be either someone you could probably ignore, or someone you shouldn’t.

Normally you wouldn’t hesitate to ignore it, but you just had your annual mammogram and they said that, if there was no problem, they’d send you something in the mail saying so. But if there was a problem, they’d call within a couple of days to schedule something further.

So, as much as you didn’t want to move, you disengage from your perpetually aroused husband and sit up, feet dangling from the side of your tall bed as you open the phone, recognize the number as theirs and press “accept” to take the call.

“Hello?”

You feel Loki sit up, too, sliding himself around you from behind to cage you in with his body, his long legs bracketing yours – but his feet actually touch the floor – his massive erection poking insistently against your bottom, warm, wet mouth pressed to the bare spot where your neck becomes your shoulder.

“Mrs. Laufeyson?”

Even two years later, it still gives you a thrill when someone calls you that. “Yes?”

“This is Stacey at Dr. Morrison’s office.”

“Hi, Stacy.”

“I’m calling because there was an area of concern found in the results of your mammogram. It might well be nothing at all – but the doctor would like you to come in as soon as possible for a biopsy.”

“Okay.” You’re not one to panic unless someone gives you a concrete reason to do so, so you simply make the appointment for as soon as they have an opening – which is in the morning, two days from now - and hang up.

Loki has gone still behind you, sensing that all is not necessarily well.

“Sweetheart?” he asks, giving you a quizzical look.

“That was the gynecologist’s office.” You pull your nightie up over your head, the first step towards getting ready to go to work. “You know how I went in for my annual mammogram last week?” He nods, although he’d found the entire process archaic and barbaric, and hadn’t hesitated to tell you so at the time. “Well, they found something that was, and I quote, ‘an area of concern’, and they want to do a biopsy. I’ll go do that on Wednesday.”

He pauses for a second, then brushes your hair back from your face. “Well, we will do that together, my darling,” he says, kissing your forehead.

You shrug, trying to move a bit away from him. “You don’t have to, really, Loki. I know you have that thing with Steve. And I don’t even think they’ll let you come in with me, anyway.” You hate to inconvenience him in any way, even now, when you know he’d move Heaven and Earth for you without so much as a thought.

And he knows you well enough that he won’t let you brush him off, as you are want to do. Loki takes the gown from you before you can throw it into the hamper and pulls you into his arms, catching your eye and forcing you to pay attention to him, his tone extremely dominant. “I believe I’ve already said that I will get someone to take my place with Steve, wife.” And to put a further end to the argument, he rolls you beneath him, making you catch your breath as you always do when he enters you abruptly, even now, but most particularly when he does it in one powerful stroke, burying himself to the hilt within you while gathering your legs on his shoulders, leaving you even more vulnerable to him than you usually are, considering the differences in your sizes and his tremendous power and strength – not that you’ve ever felt afraid of him in the least – quite the contrary.

When he has you at your most helpless, he asks sweetly, “And tell me this, my dearest one, am I going to let those impertinent mortals keep me away from you when you might be frightened or in pain?”

Although you’re also trying to suppress a smile at his imperious “impertinent mortals” comment, your tongue also flicks out to wet suddenly dry lips as you shake your head in absolutely surety of your answer, and he goes after it avidly as he begins to move on you and in you in a manner that’s designed to take your mind off of the news you’ve just received, the fact that you need to get to work, and anything else except how he’s slowly and deliberately driving you out of your mind . . . 

 

Wednesday morning, he awakens you in his favorite way - with his mouth between your legs, again trying to distract you from what’s coming – and he does so with devastating success, as always. You’re so wiped out from the orgasms he drives you to that he has to carry you to the shower, not that he minds in the least, of course, leaning you against him and washing you himself, top to bottom, then sitting you on the bench in the corner to take care of himself while he watches you attentively, before drying the two of you thoroughly under the heat lamps.

He asks solicitously if you need help dressing, but you pooh pooh that, knowing he wouldn’t hesitate to do it for you if you needed him to, though.

He then takes you to your favorite little hole in the wall local place for breakfast where the food is fabulous and the waitresses fawn all over him, telling you to ignore your diet for once and have the cinnamon and spice pancakes you love with real butter and real maple syrup, their cheesy hash brown casserole and spicy sausage – but you know that that’s because – although he’s going to have their cinnamon roll pancakes and thick applewood smoked bacon, he’s going to sneak a lot of bites from your plate, too. The man eats like a horse, yet somehow still manages to remain incredibly svelte and fit, and if you didn’t love him so much, you’d hate his guts.

Finally, it’s time to head to the hospital, and he holds your hand as he drives you there in your big, comfortable SUV. There’s valet parking, which he doesn’t really like, but he’s too wrapped up in seeing to you to worry about it, handing the keys over to the guy and jogging around the front of the car to get to you, opening the door and lifting you out, keeping his arm around your waist and your hand in his the whole way in, opening the front door to the hospital for you and holding it open for several other people, too, then reclaiming your hand and your waist, repeating the process at the elevator, holding it for several little old ladies to get in who smile up at him, and you grin broadly as they titter up at him when he winks at them rakishly before taking his place next to you at the back of the elevator.

You get off at the fifth floor and follow the signs to the Breast Care Center, and hang back the requisite five or so feet for patient privacy once you get there. Loki steps up with you when it’s your turn to talk to the receptionist.

“Hi, I’m Mrs. Laufeyson,” you can see him smile proudly at that out of the corner of your eye, “I believe I have a nine-thirty appointment?”

“Yes, Ma’am, you do. If you’ll just fill out these papers and hand them to the girl when she comes to get you? It shouldn’t be too long.”

“Thank you.” You turn away, then turn back. “Uh, may I ask a question?”

“Certainly.”

“Will my husband be allowed to come in with me?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t believe so, no.”

“Thank you.”

Loki clears his throat while you head for a set of double chairs that are out of the way of everyone else, and as soon as you sit down, he hauls you onto his lap, and you put your arms around his neck. Neither of you pays any attention to anyone else. As far as you’re concerned, everyone else can fuck the fuck off.

“You don’t need to come in with me,” you begin preemptively, knowing what he’s going to say.

“But I’m going to.”

“But you don’t need to. I’ll be fine.”

“But I’m going to,” he replies implacably.

“But you don’t need to.”

A long finger is set beneath your chin, moving it so that your eyes meet his. “Do you not want me to be with you?” His voice is carefully neutral.

“Of course I do!” you whisper.

“Then it’s settled.”

You sigh exasperatedly.

“What was that about?”

“What?”

“That sigh.”

“Well, since you’re not supposed to be there, you’ll have to be invisible to everyone but me, and what I don’t want is to end up talking to you when no one else can see you and have everyone think that I’m off my rocker!”

He is no help. All he does at that is grin.

So you hit him, of course.

“How about a compromise.”

“I’m listening.”

“I’ll only be there with you during the procedure itself - unless I can feel that you’re scared or unusually stressed.” You have a bond between you – it’s more acute on his end – he feels what you feel very strongly. You feel only about twenty percent of what he feels – he feels about eighty percent of what you do.

“That sounds reasonable.”

“Mrs. Laufeyson?”

“Yes?” You look up from your perch on his lap.

“I’m Carly. I’m going to take you back to where you’ll get ready for your procedure.”

You stand, and Loki stands behind you.

“If you’re wearing any necklaces, earrings, or other above the waist piercings or jewelry, you will want to give them to your husband.”

You take the emerald and diamond earrings Loki gave you for your first anniversary out of your ears, as well as the matching necklace he’d given you on your wedding day off and give them to him. He captures your face in his hands and kisses you gently, saying, “Everything is going to be fine, babygirl. You’ll see.”

“I know,” you say, and he hugs you wonderfully tight and hard before letting you go very reluctantly, following you to the double doors and leaning in through them, stretching his length out, his fingertips touching yours until the very last possible moment, the med tech smiling and awwwwing at you the entire time.

You can feel him with you, even though you know he’s not there – even invisibly – while you’re ensconced in a waiting room of sorts and she’s asking you all of those mundane questions everyone’s going to ask you a thousand times through the whole thing. Carly asks you to disrobe from the waist up and gives you one of those beautiful johnnies to tie in the front, then explains that they’re going to give you’re a repeat mammogram first so they can verify where the cyst is prior to the biopsy, which is unpleasant but not horrible. 

You joke with the tech who’s performing it – riffing on a Joan River’s line – that, since they’re going to flatten your boob into a pancake anyway, they should just have let you stay in the first waiting room and stretched your boob into the machine, then let you roll it back up into your bra.

Eventually, someone new comes in and introduces herself. You’ve been through a lot of hospital stays with your parents when they were, unfortunately, sick and dying, and you do your best to learn and remember everyone’s name. Rachel explains the actual procedure very thoroughly and slowly, then asks if you have any questions.

You don’t. You’ve already looked it up on the internet, and it seems pretty straightforward.

She says there’s a bit of a wait for an operating room, and that your surgeon will be in to introduce herself in a minute, and once she’s done that, it will mean a room is ready and you’ll be brought in shortly after that.

You’re left alone for a few minutes, and you feel Loki’s presence very strongly with you after that, you feel him surrounding you with his love and strength, and none of that disappears, even when the doctor appears. She’s warm and friendly and confident, which also buoys your spirits.

It’s not long before you’re brought into the room where the procedure is going to be done. It’s quite cool, and when you’ve lain down with your arm over your head, and they’ve opened the right side of the johnny, because it’s your right breast that they’re concerned with, they put several warm blankets over the rest of you. The doctor is on your right, and a nurse is at your left, holding your hand and patting you reassuringly, and there is another assistant floating around, helping the doctor.

But Loki is in the room, too, crouching at your head, whispering encouraging, loving things to you when the doctor isn’t talking to you.

“The first thing I’m going to do,” she says, “is clean and disinfect the area – and it’s going to be a little cold, just so you know.”

“I’m right here, my love.” He squeezes your left shoulder gently. “I’ll be right here with you the entire time.”

“The next thing I’m going to do is give you a bit of something that’s going to numb the area up good. You’ll feel a bit of a prick, and it might sting a bit at first, but I’ll be squirting the numbing agent in as I go, so any discomfort should abate very quickly. Here we go.”

You flinch just a bit as the needle goes in, and you feel Loki stroke your cheek soothingly. “I adore you. You are the light of my life,” he breathes, speaking very slowly and deliberately, with absolute truth and conviction. “There is nothing and no one in any of the realms for me – never has been, never will be - but you. You are my life.”

It is very hard to worry about what the doctor is doing to you when he is saying such wonderfully romantic things to you, which you know is the point of his distracting words. Before you know it, the doctor is saying that the anomaly was a benign cyst, which she has removed with no problem.

“We’re going to take you back to the room you were in before and do another mammogram, just to verify that we got it all, which we think we did. And, as long as that’s true, we’ll give you some post-op instructions, and then you’ll be able to go home, probably within the next fifteen to twenty minutes or so.”

Loki whispers into your ear, giving you a kiss as he does so, “You have been incredibly brave for me, my darling. I will be eagerly awaiting you at the doors.”

He disappears, but again, you still felt his presence with you.

The next mammogram doesn’t hurt at all because your boob is nicely numb. You muse to the tech that it’s too bad that that isn’t a courtesy part of the usual process, and she chuckles, nodding that she has to agree.

“Must be a man who decided on the procedure,” you wink. “If it involved their twig and berries, they’d all be out cold for a month.”

“Ain’t it the truth?” she nods.

The instructions you’re given about recovery are very straight forward – you’re likely experience some bruising in the area where the needle has pierced your flesh, and if you have any excess bleeding you should let them know. You should take Tylenol or Motrin for any pain, and if you have any unusual amount of pain you should let them know, too. You should use ice for any swelling, but just generally lay low for a couple days, then you should be fine.

Carly arrives to guide you back to the double doors, and when she opens them, Loki steps through them to scoop you up into his arms, ignoring Carly’s giggled gasp as he does so. 

“Thank you, Carly,” you say over his shoulder, but Loki is already heading towards the elevator.

When you reach it, he bends a bit, carefully, so that you can press the down button. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?” he asks, his concern for you rife in his tone and clearly evident on his face.

“I’m fine right now – that boob is still nicely numb. But I bet I’ll be sore eventually.”

He frowns. “Do we need to get anything on the way home to help you be comfortable later?”

“No, I don’t think so. We don’t need ice and we have ibuprofen at home.” A crowd has gathered at the elevator, and you can feel their eyes on you as he carries you onto it – some of them are blatantly ogling him, some looking jealous – but he doesn’t see any of them. He only has eyes for you.

Loki’s frown deepens. “Are you sure that’s all we need, dearest?” he asks, not bothering to decrease his volume. “I would be sure we have everything you might possibly need or want.”

You can see a few smiles at his attentiveness.

“I can assure you that we have everything at home, honey.”

“You are certain?” he asks almost gravely.

“Absolutely.”

A little old lady taps your arm and says, “It’s so wonderful to see a man who cares so much about his wife.”

Nodding, you agree. “I am a very lucky woman.”

Loki preens smugly at that, and so do you, laying your head down on his broad shoulder as he lays his cheek on top of your head.

When the doors open at the lobby, he lets everyone out ahead of you, as he then strides across the lobby with his precious bundle. The valet ticket magically appears in his hand as he stands in the little alcove near the doorway where it’s warm, pressing the occasional kiss to the top of your head, continuing to hold you in his arms, rocking you and keeping held you tightly to him while you wait for them to retrieve your car. You smile to yourself when you hear several people around you marvel at the fact that he shows no sign of tiring, even though he’s held you in his arms the entire time.

You know that he’s felt very impotent about this situation – he can’t heal you, can’t really do much for you about it – so you let him do what he can for you, which is this – coddling and spoiling you and cosseting you, which, you don’t - in general - let him do to anywhere near as much of a degree as he would like to.

When the car finally arrives, he completely ignores the nervous guy who stands there with the keys in favor of tucking you with exquisite care into the passenger’s seat – to the point of putting the seatbelt around your waist but putting the other part of it behind you rather than across your front where it might hurt you – then closing the door to take the keys from the poor agog young man - who obviously recognizes him - tipping him outrageously - then sliding into the driver’s seat, taking your hand and easing out around the cul de sac and out of the parking lot, then into traffic.

“Is there anything special we could get you before we go home, babylove? Some special treat you might like to have because you’re bravely wounded?”

You laugh a little, because you’re hardly wounded like he is sometimes when he comes home from a battle – and he never lets you give him anything special besides yourself, saying that you are his treat. . . . Well, he does let you indulge his sweet tooth and bake him things sometimes. But there’s nothing he’ll let you go and get him - nothing he’ll allow you to buy him. 

He only ever wants to be with you.

And all you want at this moment is to be with him.

Besides, you’re still full from breakfast.

Soon, you’re in your big, warm bed, under the heavy comforter, with his slightly blue, coldish hand tucked under your warmest, least sexy pair of pajamas, lying on the slightly purplish area where the biopsy was done, snuggled up to your avidly attentive husband who has barely allowed your feet to touch the floor since it happened.

“Thank you for taking such good care of me, Loki. I love you.”

He presses his lips to your temple, his arms crushing you gently back against him – and you can feel his desire rising quickly at the small of your back. 

“I love you, too, my dearest darling.”

But at the same time, you can feel the dampness of a tear splash onto your neck, and you know just how scared he was about losing you, although he never once let on.


End file.
